Lonely Roads
by adoorbellrings
Summary: Love is like a fistfight. No matter who draws first, you both end bloody. Lily/James.
1. Chapter 1

_For a moment, your eyes open and you know_

_All the things I ever wanted you to know…_

- _Your Eyes Open, Keane_

There was some boy. Friend. Boyfriend. He couldn't be bothered to learn his name, although part of him wanted to learn everything, wanted to learn his likes and dislikes, his eating habits, his schedule. As if maybe that would help him understand why Boyfriend had her, and he didn't. But that would be pathetic, visibly, unavoidably pathetic, and James Potter prided himself on being at least a little bit dignified. If he felt like someone was gutting him every time he saw him kiss her, that was fine. If his heart stopped every time she glanced over and caught his eye, a flicker of something like fear in her own clear green gaze, that was fine, too. Just as long as no one knew about it. Just as long as neither of them mentioned it. To anyone.

Didn't make it easy, though.

Quidditch practice. A hard one, cold, rainy; there was mud spattered halfway up his legs when they landed and the wind resistance made throwing the Quaffle twice as difficult. Towards the end, ducking a Bludger and reaching for the red ball at the same time, James slid sideways off his broom with a gust of freezing rain and caught himself with his legs, wrenching his left knee hard enough to bring tears of pain. On the way back up to the castle, he was limping; Sirius made a crack about old age, and James shoved him half-heartedly. Sirius retaliated with a shove that wasn't even as hard, and James slipped on his bad leg and smashed his wrist against a patch of gravelly dirt. By the time he reached the Head quarters, each step hurt. He didn't even take off his boots before limping to the bathroom, brushing bits of rock from his wrist and leaving a series of mottled scrapes against his lower palm.

After he bathed, massaging his knee until it felt less like someone had rammed it with a sledgehammer, he left the bathroom with one goal and one goal alone: sleep. Hopefully with no dreams of _her_, because right then, he thought enough bits of him hurt without adding to the list.

He made it halfway across the shared common room before Lady Luck kicked him in the back.

"Merlin, what happened to you?"

She sounded interested, which was almost worse than apathy; the concern was badly-hidden, and that made him wonder why, and that was dangerous. He turned, conscious of the towel wrapped around his waist; she was sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. Twisting her upper body to stare, one arm across the top of the sofa, Lily Evans took in what happens to a human body after three hours of flying in truly rotten weather. He'd only been hit once, a glancing blow to his right side that had left a light scrape along his ribs and a bigger, darkening bruise. His wrist and lower arm bore the bright red marks of having gravel ground into them, and he'd had the pleasure of watching his knee and a good three inches of thigh turn purple and abused.

"It's shite outside," he said by way of answer. "Didn't see a Bludger through the rain."

"Oh."

In this light, he couldn't tell the color of her eyes; they were darkened, shadowcast. Her mouth, the lips full and no doubt just a bit chapped, moved in and out of shade as she spoke.

"Right," he said, and turned. "I'm going to go pass out, then."

"Wait," she said, almost before he'd finished speaking, and James froze. _Please_, he thought, closing his eyes for a brief instant before he turned back, _please don't let me make a fool of myself_.

"What is it, Evans?" And maybe it was a bit brusque, but damn it, he'd given her enough pretty words. Tonight, all he wanted to do was lie down and feel her hand on his back, none of the more exciting fantasies he'd harbored for the past three years. Just her hand, moving down his spine, reassuring him that he wasn't quite broken yet.

She looked troubled, a fine line drawing her brows closer together.

"Want me to fix that?" Nodding towards the knee, which was quite obviously the worst of it. He looked down. It was ugly, and it hurt, and yes, he did want her to fix it, he wanted her to fix everything, he wanted her to fix _him_.

"'S okay," is what he said. Add the wry grin, just a touch of self-deprecation, _there's_ the ticket. "I've had worse."

"I'm sure," she replied, the old frostiness making a comeback. "One of these days you're going to get yourself killed, Potter."

He loved the way she said his name, the way she'd _taken_ to saying it, each syllable valued and weighted. He didn't think she knew she was doing it. Or maybe she did, like how she knew she watched him mornings when he walked around with his shirt unbuttoned, like she knew she waited up for him on Quidditch nights like these even though she would never admit it, never, ever.

"Will you come to my funeral?" he asked jauntily, and _damn_ it all, why couldn't he stop? Why couldn't he just give it up, let her see? _Because that would be losing,_ he reminded himself. _Because you've already lost, and the only way to make that worse is if she knows it._

"That depends. Will there be an act?"

"Dinner and a show, love," he tossed back, easy, it was so easy. "Finally get that date."

She shook her head, a smile crooking at one corner of her mouth, so sweet and thoughtless that he wanted to turn around and hit something.

"You're incorrigible," Lily sighed, and then her hand came up over the couch and she flicked her wand with a low mutter. Immediately, the pain in his knee dissipated, a cool, soothing balm seeping through his skin. James couldn't stop the moan, and _bloody_ hell, she blushed. Freezing again, for an entirely different reason, James stared at her. Her cheeks were flushed, and in the seconds of silence that followed her spell, James saw Lily's gaze drop to the hem of the towel, and then drag back up his torso.

His lips parted, eyes unconsciously narrowing, and when her gaze met his again Lily swallowed hard.

"You're welcome," she said quickly, and James almost yelled at her.

"Thanks," he said instead, and retreated to his room. Pants would be good. Pants would be very good indeed.

It was two days afterwards when things changed.

She was still with Boyfriend, who James discovered was called Adam. They had been together for two weeks now, the relationship still sickeningly new, and Lily had decided that it was time Adam saw her rooms.

She didn't tell him.

He was on the couch, sprawled out after finally finishing the essay for Potions, secure in boxers and a t-shirt as Lily was out with her boy toy for the evening, when the portrait swung open and they climbed in. Lily coughed when she saw him, and James almost fell off the couch. He was not Quidditch Captain for nothing, though, and caught himself before the flinch was even visible.

"James," Lily said, using his first name for what had to have been the second or third time – she'd used it at the first Prefect meeting, when they'd introduced themselves as the new Heads. "This is Adam."

"Potter," Adam said, and stuck out a hand. He was short, only an inch or so taller than Lily. James pushed himself off the couch and took the hand, his eyes flicking from the boy to Lily.

"Nice to meet you," he said, forcing himself not to squeeze too hard, and then turned away. "I suppose I'll leave you two alone, then," he said to Lily. "Wouldn't want to intrude." There was fire in his eyes, he knew there was, and he knew she saw it because in the instant before she blinked and turned back to the stupid blond nice guy beside her, James could have sworn she looked scared. That was beginning to become a common theme for them, and he was sick of it. Sick of the games, of the hints, of the way she said his name when they were alone. So yes, there was bite to the words, and he ignored the way her lips parted as he pushed past her towards his room.

That night, once Adam was gone, he went and leaned against the wall by the door and waited until she looked up from her customary seat on the couch.

"Yes?" she asked, all innocence, the only sign of her trepidation the way she cut the word off like paper.

"So, that was nice," he said, because he was angry today; he'd been angry for a while. "Nice of you, bringing him here."

"I wanted to show him where I live," she said primly, as if that was just fine, because why wouldn't it be fine? It should bloody well be fine.

It wasn't fine, and they both knew it.

"You couldn't have warned me?" he asked, trying to be polite, trying, trying.

"Warned you?" she repeated, a scoff. "I don't need your permission to have a boyfriend, Potter."

"No, you don't," and he pushed away from the wall and stalked over to the couch, his body moving, moving, his mind stopped dead. "But you damn well do to bring him into _my_ home, parading him about like some sort of prize while I – " He stopped.

"While you what?" She slid off the couch and stood, it like a wall between them, a buffer. "You have something to say, I know you do, so say it!"

"You say it first," he countered, and everything went still. She looked at him, eyes all large and hurt and wary.

"Why are you doing this? Why couldn't you just let it go?"

"Why did you heal me?" he asked, quieted by the edge of desperation in her voice. "Why do you watch me, why do you look so damned scared whenever we're alone? Why did you bring him here when you knew I would be here? Why play nice, use my first name, act like nothing's wrong? Why are you _doing_ this, Lily?"

Her name was like a gunshot, unmissed.

"I refuse to have this conversation," she said lowly, and moved around the couch. He caught her arm, swung her around, the space between them was miles and miles and he could feel her warmth against his hand.

"Please, Lily," he said, because fuck it, it was too late. "I can't _breathe_ like this."

She stared at him, biting her lower lip, the furrow in her brow deepening as she inhaled too sharply.

He didn't know who moved first. Whether she grabbed his hair or he yanked her arm. Or maybe they all moved at once, waves carrying, a collision, inevitable as storms. But now her mouth was on his, the miles eaten up by a shock that traveled from his spine to hers and back again until the hairs on his forearms stood on end and she kissed him, kissed him, kissed him. It was painful, a heat, every part of him alive for her and dying for her in a sweet agony of skin-on-skin.

He put his hands against her thighs and she put her palms against his shoulders, with a gasp, she jumped, caught, her legs wrapping around his waist and her teeth scraping against his ear. James carried Lily into his room, kicking the door closed behind him.

Her belly, pale and smooth and curving. Her shuddering sigh as he traced the line of her inner thigh with his tongue, her hands digging into his sheets. The warm, wet kisses she pressed against his bruised side, his neck, his jaw.

Her body warm against him, one hand still tangled in his, his free arm draped over her waist to pull her close. Breathing. Hearts, slowing, a thudding precision.

Sleep.

And in the morning, he woke up and she was gone.

**TBC. Thoughts?**


	2. Chapter 2

_You think your days are ordinary,_

_And no one ever thinks about you._

_But we are all the same,_

_And she can hardly breathe without you._

- _She Has No Time, Keane_

She tried a bath, but it didn't work. The water was too still, too placid; it didn't wipe away his fingerprints. They were like bruises, invisible and painless and damning. She tried crying, too, but the tear ducts weren't working and neither was her force of will. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding, her lips wouldn't stop tingling, parts of her that ached were written with his name a thousand times over.

"Oh, gods," Lily whispered to herself, sitting on her bed with the curtains drawn and the door locked.

She had spent months _not_ _wanting_ James Potter, _not_ _wanting_ him so hard that in the end she couldn't drag herself away. She remembered his eyes, the hazel darkening to burnished, glinting gold, the planes and angles of his face all taut with anger and frustration, her name like drops of water on his lips. Kissing Adam was nice, sweet, comfortable. Kissing James was all wind and lightning, flashing into brilliance.

He touched her, she trembled.

And now the careful balance, the one she'd worked so hard to maintain, was crumbled at her feet like so much bread.

She had to tell Adam. She _couldn't _tell Adam. She had to make sure James knew it would never happen again. She couldn't face James.

Lily made a sound, something small, between a groan and a cry. What had she been _thinking_? She hadn't been, though, had she? Not at all. There'd been a whirlwind, a terrible storm, and he had spun her about until she couldn't see. And now, the dust settling into patterns of lips and hands against her legs, Lily thought that her world might just have been ruined.

The knock at her door was sharp and sudden, and Lily started a bit. She stared at the knob, willing it not to turn; there was no other sound. Then, footsteps, padding off.

She waited until she heard the door across the common room close, and then went and opened her own. There was a small pile of papers lying at her feet. Slowly, Lily bent and picked them up; she recognized Marlene's neat, curling handwriting. Her homework, the assignments she'd missed from the three classes she'd skipped that day. Marlene must have dropped them off at the portrait; James must have found them…

Guilt settled in her stomach, stony and sick. He hadn't tried to find her, hadn't beaten down her door like she'd half-expected. He'd let her run, and now he was letting her hide. With that thought came shame, and Lily's fingers clenched on the papers. Who was he to, to act all _nonchalant_? He'd wanted her for years, finally it had exploded into something hot and bright and bloody amazing, and now he was acting like nothing had happened?

_So are you_, her traitor mind murmured. _What, do you want him to tell everyone, brag about finally winning over the Ice Queen? Do you want him to tell Adam?_

She was still standing there, the papers crumpling in her fist, when the door across the room swung open and _he_ stepped out. Her head whipped up, eyes locking on him; he looked tired and mussed, having changed from his school clothes to a pair of gray sweatpants and a long-sleeved thermal shirt. His hair, if possible, was even more unruly than usual, his glasses barely hiding the circles under his eyes. He needed to shave. He was everything she didn't want to see, and he was fucking beautiful.

"You okay, Evans?" he asked, quiet, eyes asking something else. "Missed all your classes, I hear."

"Fine, yeah," she said quickly. Why wasn't she turning? Why wasn't he leaving? She'd been wrong, of course. He wasn't nonchalant at all.

The moment grew awkward, but Lily's feet were glued to the floor.

He took a step, silent, catlike.

"Lily," he said.

"You can't come any closer," she snapped, her voice higher than it should have been. He looked like she'd cut him.

"We don't have to do this," James offered, each word pained. "You can just pretend nothing happened."

"No," she admitted, the words coming before she thought them out. "I can't." She smiled humorlessly. "Wish I could."

"Fuck, Lil." He lifted a hand, dragged his fingers through his hair; for once, the move didn't look like a move. A piece of her, somewhere deep inside her chest, snapped off and stung her lungs until breathing was difficult.

"I'm sorry, I just…" She stopped, inhaled, exhaled. "Adam is…"

"Is what?" he asked, an audible break of patience. "What is he, Evans? Does he kiss you like I did? Do you hold _his_ hand in your sleep?" James laughed. "You can't possibly _love_ him; it's been two bloody weeks."

"Don't tell me who I love," Lily threw down, a gauntlet, unconsciously taking a step towards him. The battle was set. "Don't even try."

"Why should it matter? We both know it's not _him_." He sneered at her, the exhaustion in his eyes sparking into anger. "It wasn't just me last night; I don't care if you never come near me again, but don't you dare tell me you didn't feel anything."

"So what if I did?" she asked, harsh, because this was it, this was everything she'd been working so hard to avoid. This was James in love with her, and her heart snapping to him, again and again and again. "Nothing's changed, Potter, and nothing ever will!"

"Why _not_?" He reached out, suddenly close enough to touch, and snatched the papers from her hand. "It's worth hiding in your room all day, but nothing's changed?" Shaking his head, he tossed the wad of assignments to the couch. "You've been lying to me for ages, Lil, but now you're just lying to yourself."

She felt tears pricking at her eyes, tears that were going to fall sooner or later, finally, and pressed her lips together. His words were as unmistakable and as uncompromising as the gasps he'd drawn from her the night before.

"What do you _want_, James?" she asked, and saw it hit him. The air around him staggered, an invisible shove, his name.

"Admit that there's something," he said after a minute. They stood formally, backs straight, a good two feet between them. "Just _admit_ it, already, and – and _trust _me, just a little, just enough to try!"

"Trust you?" she repeated, flashing back to the memories, all the memories. "I don't even know you."

"You know enough." There was no mercy in that, and he was right. He was right. "This is stupid, Lily. All the pretending."

"I thought we were friends. Getting to be."

"We'll never be friends," he said bluntly, a touch of surprise in his voice. The tears were more of a threat now, waiting for another word. "And now… Merlin, Lil, I don't want to go back. I just… want… you." He sighed, defeat evident in the slight slump to his shoulders. She wanted to go to him, and that shocked her. She wanted to go to him so badly that she spoke, an offering, _anything._

"Why?" It came out a whisper, barely there. "I don't… no one has ever wanted me like you do."

In a novel or a film, he would have rushed to her. Clasped her hands, fallen to his knees, the rising violin. Instead, he smiled a bit, slanted and helpless.

"I don't know. You're…" He stopped, shook his head. "When I look at you, it's like I'm whole again." James chuckled, running those ruddy fingers through his hair, the smile turning rueful. "You're maddening, of course. Half the time I want to throw you off a tower. But…" And now he looked at her, dead on, hazel eyes lit with something that took Lily's breath away. "You're beautiful, Lily Evans. You make it all… okay."

She started crying. He did go to her then, hands coming up as if to catch the tears, but he wasn't quite brave enough to touch her again. He just stood, baffled, desperate, hands glancing off the air about her shoulders.

"I'm sorry, don't cry; it was stupid. I shouldn't have – "

"No," she interrupted, waving him off, one hand up to dash at her eyes. "No, it was good." She gave a short, hiccupping laugh. "Really good. What book did you pick that up from, then?" The joke was ruined by the way her voice had gone all thick with tears, but the relief in his eyes was enough to make nothing else matter.

"Guess I'm just the poetic sort," James said, a careful, hesitant grin tugging at his mouth. The tension dissolved, an ebb or flow, and Lily wiped her face on her sleeve.

"Don't quit your day job, Potter."

"One of us has to bring in the bacon." As soon as it was out, just a light, flirty remark of the sort that he'd been making for years, Lily's gaze darted up to his. Her smile faded.

"I don't think I can," she said, and they both knew what she meant.

"Aw," he said, "don't sell yourself short," like the joke would change things. When she didn't smile, he reached out and slipped his fingers into hers, lifting her hand between them. He looked down, his hand warm and large. "I know you're scared, Lily, but I'm not going to fuck this up. Not anymore."

"I'm not worried about _you_," she muttered, distracted by the way he was playing with her fingers. And, come to think of it, what _was_ she worried about? She'd had boyfriends before. Plenty of them. She had one _now_, which was something that really should have been more on the forefront, but James was tracing her fingertips, her palm. As it became harder to focus, Lily realized that therein lay the problem.

She'd had boyfriends before… but none of them had been James. None of them had done this to her, and she was beginning to think that none of them ever would.

"Bollocks," Lily breathed. This was big. This was bigger than she'd ever suspected, and… and… "I have to go." She pulled her hand out of his, and for the second time that day, he let her walk away.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: So here we are, a happy ending after all. And my last Keane reference, because this entire story was formulated around "Your Eyes Open" and it seemed appropriate.**

_And if you have a minute, why don't we go_

_Talk about it, somewhere only we know…_

_- Somewhere Only We Know, Keane_

He lasted longer than the boys had expected. Almost a full four days. By the evening of the fourth, James was simmering, the tension snapping out to sting anyone who came too close. Sirius, being Sirius, ignored this; where Remus and Peter tiptoed around him as if he were a live grenade, Padfoot took his chances.

"Come on, mate," he said, and slung an arm over James' shoulders. "Lighten up, yeah? She'll come 'round."

"She won't," James muttered, and shrugged Sirius off. "This is her area of expertise."

"What, removing all vestiges of your masculinity and chucking them in the Lake?"

"Fuck off," was the flat response. At this, Remus glanced up from his place on the floor of their small dorm room. Gray-blue eyes, unreadable as James' were tempestuous, studied the lanky figure sprawled artlessly across his unmade bed.

"Perhaps you could take the mature route," he offered quietly, gaze back at the book in his lap, "and try talking to her."

"I _did_ try that," James snarled, pushing himself away from the headboard to glare at Remus. "And she ran away!"

"You let her," Peter reminded him, not looking up from his game of solitaire. "I mean, I get that it seemed the gentlemanly thing to do at the time, but I think those rules stop applying when she avoids you for the rest of the week."

"I don't need your advice on love, Wormtail," James sneered, though the scorn was half-hearted.

"How about mine?" Sirius asked, voice light but expression somewhat sobered. "I think we all deserve points for being _remarkably _restrained throughout all this business, but James, my boy, that time is done. This is ridiculous, and depressing to be around. Go get her, already! This entire bloody girly problem could be solved by a good shag, I'm telling you."

Remus coughed, and turned a page.

"I wouldn't have put it quite so indelicately as our friend, there, but I'm forced to admit it. Sirius is right." He sounded tired – he usually did – but there was the ghost of humor in the narrow, wan lines of his mouth. "You and Lily need to have this out, once and for all. Or else I'm going to let Peter lock you in the loo next time you start moaning about it."

"I'd listen to him, were I you, Prongs." Sirius glanced at Peter, who wore a faint smirk. "There've been a few close calls with _that_ one."

"You're all wankers," James said. He ran both hands through his hair, letting out a low, frustrated sigh. "I don't know if I can be trusted around her right now, actually; I might just strangle her."

"Depending on what you're strangling her with, that could turn out quite well for – " Sirius broke off when James smacked him across the back of the head, but his grin was cheeky as ever.

"Honestly," Peter said, finally scooping up his cards and sitting up on his mattress. "D'you know what I'd do for a chance with a girl like that? And here you are, crying about it. In our room. To us."

"But what if I _don't _have a chance with her?" Now, James' voice was infused with a familiar panic, and Sirius groaned.

"You've got to be bleeding joking," he hissed, leaning across the mattress to take James by the shoulders. "That girl stops breathing whenever you walk into the room, Prongs, and you're too busy having a heart attack to notice."

"Twice in one night," Remus said blandly. "Sirius, you're in top form." He eyed James again, mouth quirking in a decidedly wicked smile that belied his calm, even tone. "Have you noticed the way she freezes up when you brush past her, or the amount of time she spends staring at you when she's supposed to be talking to her boyfriend du jour?"

"That's _another_ problem," James burst out, torn between excitement and confusion. "I'm making her deal with this while she's dating another bloke!"

"Can't hardly call it _dating_," Sirius scoffed, sitting back against the foot of Remus' bed. "More like…" He smirked again. "A beard."

"What?" Peter asked, intrigued.

"She's with that Adam fellow to hide the dirty great lady-boner she's harboring for our boy, here."

"Oh, yes," Peter said with a nod. "That's true."

"Do you really think so?" James asked, vulnerable and hating it.

"Without a doubt," Remus replied, meeting his friend's gaze, knowing James would only really believe it coming from him. "Go find her, James."

"Right." And with a deep breath and a few quick nods, James stood abruptly. "I'll just go do that, then."

"Make an effort not to enrage her this time."

"And watch out for Filch; I swear he's checking broom closets regularly these days."

"If you come back without her, I'm going to kill you and not even feel a little bit bad."

He closed the door on his friends, gratitude whispering at the edges of his mind; the bulk of James Potter's attention was on something else entirely.

He'd let Lily hide long enough.

* * *

He got about five minutes into his search before James resorted to the obvious. He pulled out the Map, ducking into an alcove of stone, and muttered the code. With a sweep, ink spiraled across the parchment to form a sketchy image of the castle; dots with tiny names scrawled atop them moved restlessly through the halls. It was late in the evening, not quite curfew; there were a few clusters of students moving away from the library, and one or two down by the Great Hall, but all in all most seemed to be already in their Common Rooms. Lily Evans, however, was not.

He found her name almost immediately, and was a bit disgusted with the way his eyes had gravitated to it. Then, noting where she actually _was_, James felt a small twinge of curiosity. She was near the painting that opened into the kitchens, alone, and didn't appear to be moving. Did she know how to get in? Was the Head Girl pilfering food? The Marauder in him snickered at this potential hypocrisy, but any light-hearted feelings slid off of James like water. They weren't heavy enough to cling, brushed aside by the heartsickness, the anger, the desperate need to be close to her again.

Rolling up the Map and tucking it back into his pocket, James strolled off down the hall. It had always been a great talent of his, this unflappable cool; outside of his own room, away from his mates, James Potter was just bloody fine. But that wasn't true, was it? That wasn't true at all.

He could still _feel_ her.

He could feel the way she'd kissed him, fearless and hot and messy, their mouths sometimes missing each other as they fought to be closer, her teeth scraping against his chin, his cheek. If he closed his eyes, he could see it against the blackness, her pale torso falling back against his bed as he unbuttoned her school shirt and slid it off her shoulders. She'd propped herself up on her elbows for a long minute, mouth open, eyes on his, watching him watch her; she'd been a goddess then, and so fucking unashamed as she pulled off her bra that he'd fallen for her all over again.

She'd called him by his name when they were both naked. She'd said it drawn out, like silk, dragging across his skin.

When he reached the kitchens, Lily wasn't in the hall. James, now turned on atop all the other emotions raging through him, almost punched the wall. Instead, he pulled out the Map again and tapped it rather hard with his wand. When he found her name, James glanced up at the fruit still life in front of him, and allowed himself a smile.

It was not a pleasant one.

He slipped through the painting as silently as only a boy who has spent the past six years slipping past the wary can, dropping to the floor inside the kitchens without a sound. James held a finger to his lips, and the house elf who'd come running frowned.

"Not now, Turny," he breathed, relieved that this particular house elf was friendly with him. Stepping out of his way, Turny winked at him and nodded to her left. James looked over, and could just make out the glint of red hair through a set of shelves. "Brilliant," he mouthed, making sure the painting had closed behind him. Casting a quick, basic locking charm – nothing that an equally basic breaking spell wouldn't erode, but just enough to make sure she didn't trick him and slip out – he stood to his full height.

"Evans," he said, a spark of vindictive pleasure zipping through him as she jumped. Lily, who'd been seated at one of the small square tables the house elves used for cards and feeding wayward students, whipped upright and around so fast she almost knocked her chair over.

"Potter," she said, sounding calm despite the wide green eyes. "Wouldn't want to interrupt," and she made as if to start walking. He stepped around the shelves, mouth thinning.

"I don't think so."

"Move."

"No."

"Move!"

"No," he said again, smirking because it would annoy her, leaning closer because Remus was _right_, she _was_ breathing faster. "I'm not leaving until we sort this, and neither are you." Around them, the house elves were quietly and unobtrusively backing away. Lily's eyes darted to them, and then back to James.

"I'm not sorting anything here," she hissed. "Your timing is abominable, and – "

"I love it when you talk dirty," James broke in, "but you're right. Some privacy." He reached out, grabbed her arm, and swung her into the dry goods pantry to his left. Pulling the door closed behind him, he smiled triumphantly. "There. Now you have to talk to me."

"Merlin," Lily muttered, eyes flashing. "Haven't you learned that the best way to get a girl to do what you want _is not _by forcing her?"

"I've never forced you," James countered, and without meaning to, his voice went hoarse. The air thickened between them, the silence suddenly alive.

"Let me out of here," Lily said then, her voice low and uncompromising.

"Why?" It slipped out, irreverent and hard, and James knew he was riding a wave now, riding a wave that was going to crash soon, but he couldn't stop it.

"Because I have places to be. Places that do not involve you."

"Maybe they should," he replied, moving closer; she backed away.

"Let me out," she said again, something hard and toothy in those words now, a warning.

"Or what?" he asked, the 't' falling razor sharp, another step. She backed away again, but now her wand was in her hand.

"I'm not doing this, Potter. I've thought about it, believe me, I have, and it's not what's going to happen. You and me are not."

"You're wrong," he said, no room for her to back up more, and caged her with both hands pressed against the pantry wall. "Damn it, Lily, I've given you time; stop _doing_ this now!" He felt the tip of her wand bite against his stomach.

"What happened to the new and improved James Potter?" she asked, halfway to breathless, but there were arrows in her words and they hit hard. "And here I thought you were being so caring, so polite, so understanding – "

"I was!" he interrupted, pressing forward until her wand dug painfully into his abdomen. He could feel her breasts against his chest with her every inhalation, and tried not to shudder. "I am!"

"Bollocks," she scoffed. "If that's true, get off me before I hex you!"

"No," he said, denying her yet again. This time, though, James was watching her eyes, saw the way they darkened, the way his voice – low, torn with anger – rolled over her skin and left shivers. "No," he said again, just to see, and she trembled. Slowly, he leaned in, one hand dropping to her wand hand. "No," James said for a third time, just a whisper now, his fingers sliding under hers until the wand slipped and clattered to the floor. There was a second, only a second, where the noise could have broken it.

Then, James brought his mouth down on Lily's hard enough to hurt, and all he needed was the faint gasp as her lips parted for him. He closed the rest of the distance between them, molding his body to hers; the hand touching hers entwined their fingers and brought her arm up above her head. His other hand slid around her back, beneath her shirt, convulsing against her warm skin as her own free hand wound itself in his hair. With a low, animal groan, James let her hand go and gripped her by the thighs.

"Jump," he breathed into her mouth, awed when she obeyed. He felt her legs, long and bare beneath her regulation skirt, settle around his hips; he dug his fingers into the flesh of her thighs and she crossed her ankles behind his back. This brought her quite suddenly against him, her heat pressing against his hardness, and Lily let out a sharp, startled cry. "Oh, fuck," James gasped, and kissed her as she clung to him, his hands fumbling blindly at his belt.

"Please," Lily whispered, holding his face to hers, "please," and he slid two fingers beneath the elastic of her underwear and struggled with his zipper with the other hand.

"Do you want this?" he asked, most of him screaming out against each word, absolutely aching for her, "Lils, if you don't say stop right fucking now – "

"Don't you dare," she snarled back, emerald eyes sparking with lust and need and something he didn't dare name. "Don't you dare stop."

So he didn't.

After, on the floor now, James lay on his back and panted as Lily draped herself over his chest. She was still straddling him, collapsed atop him, her red hair tumbling down over his shoulders as she pressed her face into his neck.

"If you leave," he managed, half-distracted by the fact that he could hear his heart racing in time with hers, "I'll kill you. I swear to Dumbledore."

She huffed a laugh, throaty and low and so sexy he wanted to flip them over and start all over again.

"Please," she said against his collarbone, "don't mention our headmaster while you're still inside me."

_Bloody hell_, James thought, glad she couldn't catch the way his jaw had just dropped. _I love her. I fucking love her._

"Can I mention other things?" he asked, reaching up to play with her hair. "Like how you're beautiful when you've just been thoroughly shagged?"

"A bit full of yourself, aren't you?"

"No, but you are," he threw back cheekily, unable to muster the energy to duck his head when she lifted hers and smacked him. Then, their eyes locked, the smile faded from his face. James pushed against the back of her head, just enough to bring her that much closer, and kissed her. She rolled off of him, and for an instant he felt his heart drop towards his stomach. Then, she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him up to sit. Propped up by his arms out behind him, James kissed Lily again.

"Oh," she sighed when he pulled away. "Sweet."

"Sweet?" he repeated, smiling. "That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

She ducked her head, embarrassed. He reached out and tilted her face back up to his.

"Don't," he said simply, and then his gaze faltered. "Please don't." And this time, he wasn't talking about her blush, and they both knew it.

"I've rather cocked it up, haven't I?" Lily asked, and he was so shocked by the bluntness that he let out a bark of laughter.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "Yeah, you have."

She looked away.

"I just… wanted to… be like before. Like I was before," she clarified, glancing at him beneath her lashes. "But it didn't work."

"Seemed to work okay," he said, a hint of bitterness finding its way into his voice. "I didn't see you for four days."

She laughed, a hollow sound.

"Neither did anyone else."

"Including Adam?" James asked, studiously eying his hands.

"Especially Adam." She shook her head; in his peripheral vision, he saw her look up at the ceiling. "That's done, by the way."

"Your moral code protest too much?"

"No," she admitted, a little wryly. "I didn't want to deal with him and you at the same time."

"So did I win or lose, then?"

Lily looked at him, so hard that it dragged his gaze up to match.

"What do you think, James bloody Potter?"

"Honestly, Lily?" He shook his head. "I don't think too well around you."

"Yes, well, the stupidity is mutual."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

"Don't worry, I'm insulting myself as well."

He smirked, hope threading up into his ribs and prodding at his heart.

"So you're single now, anyway."

"That would appear to be the case."

"And we just had sex. Really amazing pantry sex."

"After you kidnapped me and locked me in and ignored my every request to be let go, yes."

"But really amazing pantry sex, nonetheless." He moved closer, part of him remembering to be impressed by the fact that they were both naked still, and she didn't seem to care. "Does this mean you… can?"

"Can what?" She was coy, but her eyes were serious. "Can… not destroy a relationship with the one person who manages to make me feel like I have no idea what I'm doing? Can successfully get over years of deliberate emotional distance in order to actually not fuck up being in love for the first time in my life?"

"Yeah," he said, and then realized what she'd said. "Wait."

"Shut it, James," Lily said. "Before I change my mind."

So he did.


End file.
